


a wee stalker

by disaster_imp



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Traits, Bodily Functions, M/M, Partial Nudity, Scent Marking, it's probably not what you're thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:00:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27557248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disaster_imp/pseuds/disaster_imp
Summary: Netflix-esque with the whole bread-in-your-pants and meet-brute thing, but I don't discriminate this is an equal opportunity witcherverse.Set across the first month of Geralt and Jaskier meeting.Written for this flashfiction prompt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 85
Collections: The Witcher Flash Fic Challenge #010





	a wee stalker

The day Geralt met Jaskier was... 

Well. 

It was a _day,_ okay? 

A whirlwind. A tornado. An _interesting times_ kind of a day.

Gruffness hadn't put the bard off. 'No' did not stop him from following. _Violence_ hadn't deterred him, and Geralt _almost_ felt bad for punching him in the gut, except for the fact that he was a fool of a human who was going to get himself _killed,_ and _words didn't seem to work on him._ Getting kidnapped and very nearly _killed_ hadn't deterred him, and how in the everloving name of _fuck_ did he come out of that with an _elven lute?!_ From _Filavandrel?!!_ Of all peop - er, elves?!!! And if that wasn't bad enough, now he had the _audacity_ to embellish - nay, _completely falsify_ \- the entire episode, and - _he can't be BLEAT? REALLY?!!!!_

"That's not how it happened," Geralt objected.

Fine. He'd tried to dissuade him. If the bard had a fucking death wish, that was the bard's fucking problem. Geralt didn't have to protect him. He had his own job to do. The bard walked ahead, singing his ridiculous song, in a clear, sweet voice that wasn't even a little bit grating on sensitive witcher ears - and wasn't _that_ annoying - wearing his ridiculous flamboyant clothing, carrying nothing but his fucking _lute!_ No pack, so no food, no bedding, no _anything._ Completely out of nowhere, it struck Geralt that this foppish little - okay, not really little, but - fine, _tall,_ handsome, _extremely irritating_ man, had not smelled of fear throughout the entire ordeal. Not since Geralt had met - not since he had _imposed himself_ on Geralt, in fact. Not at Geralt, not at the Sylvan, not when the elves were threatening his life. Anger, at times. Confusion. Sadness and pain, at hearing Filavandrel's story. _Never fear._

 _Bread in his pants._ Grunting a hmm, and no, that was _not_ a smile, Geralt nudged Roach into a walk to follow the ridiculously bright, completely-unprepared-for-travelling, nuisance bard.

  
A few days later, his flowery attachment still firmly attached, said attachment now more suitably equipped with a pack, a bedroll, and extra clothing that was no more practical than his previous clothing, Geralt noticed something. He'd left camp to hunt for their dinner, and when he returned, the nearby forest had been scent-marked by some creature he didn't recognise. A faint, vaguely floral - not unpleasantly so - smell of pheromones had been sprayed some distance from the camp. He didn't think much of it, at the time.

Until it happened _again_. Was something following them? He checked behind them with an increased level of vigilance. Whatever it was perhaps didn't mean any harm - it hadn't hurt them - yet - but that didn't mean it wasn't dangerous. Geralt didn't like not knowing. 

He started to notice it more and more frequently, and after a thorough investigation one night, realised that it was happening even more regularly than he first thought - possibly every night, in fact - because there were _gaps_ in the marked perimeter. If he didn't walk close to the right places, he missed it altogether. 

His level of suspicion increased, and he checked behind them, checked the area when they set up camp, checked everything he could think of, _obsessively_. He turned up nothing. 

"Are you all right, Geralt?" Jaskier asked one night, noticing Geralt's frazzled state as he cast around, searching restlessly for something that wasn't there.

Tired and frustrated, Geralt only grunted a non-committal response. He didn't need to frighten the bard with mysteries.

  
In Gulet, there were drowners in the Dyphne. In Hoshberg: a royal griffin stealing farmers' livelihoods, and also their lives. In Aldersberg - well, nothing in Aldersberg, but Jaskier insisted on a night in the inn, and Geralt didn't have the heart to deny him. Jasker sang, and Geralt tried to pretend he wasn't mesmerised by it.

At every town, just like at every not-town, Geralt returned from his hunt (or in the case of Aldersberg, a boar-hunt for the inn's table. _Not_ because Jaskier asked, thank you. Geralt just happened to _also_ fancy roast boar for dinner. After Jaskier asked.) to find the perimeter of the entire town scent-marked.

_What the fuck was following them?_

By Rastburg, Geralt had had enough. Dangerous, harmless, fucking _whatever,_ the sleep deprivation was getting to him, he needed to figure it out. He picked up a contract that sounded like it was probably nothing, and headed out the main gates. Instead of making his way to the farmstead relating to his contract, Geralt found himself a hiding place. A paddock, fenced in weathered timber, wheat growing high enough to give him cover from most observers. The pale stone of the town's wall was close, and his view unobstructed. He would see anyone - or any _thing_ \- that made its way around the wall.

He hunkered down in the golden-ripe wheat to wait.

Barely ten minutes had passed when Jaskier sauntered out through the main gates. The sound of hummed tunes and one-person chatter floated across to Geralt's hiding place. It wasn't endearing, it was _annoying_. Geralt considered warning the bard, sending him away, but that could break his cover. _And,_ he reminded himself, he wasn't responsible for the man. If he wanted to use himself as bait, knowing or unknowing, it wasn't Geralt's problem.

 _Fuck it Jaskier, keep your wits about you._ Geralt scanned the area frantically, looking for anything out of place, then took a breath. Jaskier was fine. _Fine_. There was nothing around. No danger. He couldn't see, or smell, or hear anything that might pose a threat, there was just Jaskier, walking along like the ridiculously sunny, naive human he somehow still was, probably about to be murdered by his own ignorance. He watched Jaskier wander around for a bit, slowly making his way towards Geralt's fence.

Towards the part of the fence where Geralt was hiding. 

Jaskier stopped a few metres away, unlaced his trousers, pulled his cock out and pissed on the fence. He didn't just stand there, aiming at one spot, a nice steady stream. No. The bard was _messy_. He waved his dick around, spraying urine as far and wide as he possibly could. It splashed across at least five separate fence posts. It scattered in little golden droplets that beaded on the heads and stalks of wheat. It soaked like soft yellow rain into the earth where it landed.

Geralt stared.

And then, the smell hit his nostrils. The pheromones, the faint floral scent that had been marking their campsites, their locations for the past _month,_ was coming from _Jaskier_. How had he not noticed? Had he never seen the bard relieve himself before? 

Thinking back, Geralt realised he hadn't. Or _smelled_ him. He watched Jaskier more closely. For all his chaotically enthusiastic watering of the environment, _not a single drop landed on his own clothes._

Geralt stood up from his hiding place and stepped over the fence to confront the man.

_"Jaskier, what the fuck are you doing?"_

Jaskier jumped, not expecting to be startled by a witcher jumping out of a paddock, but he doesn't _stop_. He gives another little wave of his dick, spreading his flower-fucking-scented urine _what the fucking fuck_ a little further before giving his dick a shake, a few more drops spattering the fence, and the grass, and the ground, and with a deliberate flick of his wrist, onto Geralt's _boot._ He then calmly tucked his dick away again, as if he did this _every fucking day_. Which, apparently, he did. 

"Oh! Hello, Geralt. What are you doing here? Is your contract nearby? Should I take cover? Can I watch?" He looked around, as if expecting to see a griffin pop out of the field of wheat next. As if everything was just _perfectly fucking normal._

"No, this isn't the contract! I was trying to figure out what the _fuck_ has been following us for the past fucking _month,_ marking its territory around every fucking place we camp and every fucking town we sleep in, and it's _you? What the fuck are you doing?"_

"Marking my territory, yes," Jaskier says, blinking at him, as if Geralt should somehow know this already. Geralt, sleep deprived after weeks of hyper-vigilance, gave in to his fatigue and frustration. He'd been trying to keep the bard _safe,_ and it turns out the bard was what he was keeping the bard safe _from_. He pinches the bridge of his nose.  
  
_"Why are you doing this?!"_ Geralt demanded. "Are you - _claiming_ me, somehow? Leaving signs for someone to follow? Who - _What_ \- are you? Jaskier, what the _fuck_ is going on?"

"No, of course not! I told you, I'm a _Bard_. Geralt, I would _never_ presume to mark you with _claiming_ pheromones. Not without your consent, and no, nobody is coming after us. Thanks to me. You're _welcome."_

None of this was making any more sense than it had five minutes ago. "What?"

"I'm a _Bard!"_ Jaskier said, louder, as if increasing his volume would somehow help the witcher understand. Again, the emphasis on _bard,_ as if it meant something _more_. " I'm protecting you!"

Geralt stared at Jaskier in bewilderment. _"You're_ protecting _me?_ From _what?!"_

Jaskier looked at Geralt as if he'd lost his fucking mind, and truthfully, Geralt wondered if he had. 

_"Other Bards,_ of course!"

**Author's Note:**

> Writing prompt: Perfectly innocent, idyllic country fence.  
> My brain: Dogs marking their territory. No, wolves - _wolf witchers_ marking territory. Wait, hang on, witchers with animal traits is a popular trope, subvert it. _Bards_ marking their territory.
> 
> No, I'm not sorry about the puns.


End file.
